


Stars through his soul

by KawaiiKitsuneGirl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Fun, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity War, Infinity War spoilers, M/M, Pain, Romance, Sad, Sadness, Stars, Still, Stucky - Freeform, Tears, Thor hugs, hug, i'M SAD, joking, no fun, nope - Freeform, not here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-29 23:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14483775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KawaiiKitsuneGirl/pseuds/KawaiiKitsuneGirl
Summary: Steve sighed, and noticed with detached interest a star that pricked through the layers of cloud above him, its weak, flickering light trying desperately to reach earth from millions of lightyears away and years ago. Once upon a time, he might have felt the urge to reach for a pencil and sketch out its hopeful struggle. He might have deigned to use his precious few colouring pencils to capture the colours of the dark night sky, with every single one of his thoughts trained on how Bucky, far away at war or even mere houses away, could see that same star.Now, the star brought him despair, because Bucky could never see it again.





	Stars through his soul

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy. Infinity war has killed me, so I hope you enjoy this

~He passed a young man in the street, poor and worn and very much in love. Water passed through his shoes and stars through his soul~

Steve looked up to the dark sky, and sighed.

It was nothing big, nothing out of place really, aside from the fact that Steve was the paragon of a perfect soldier and nothing was meant to break his perfect composure outside of the privacy of his own   
bedroom.

Which this was surely not.

They were staying with the Wakandans, after the disastrous events of the day, and so whilst Steve remained as courteous as he could to his grieving hosts, he had also crept away from the mournful quiet   
that echoed through the grand halls, leaving the people to mourn their king and his friend. Captain America mourned alone.

It wasn’t like that was a known fact of the universe or anything, but it was a rule that Steve lived by. It was the only way he had struggled through life for months before the ice, then for a good year after   
he had emerged from the ice, and even since then, he frequently reminded himself of it to control his wild emotions.

The thing was that Captain America, as the perfect soldier, was supposed to accept death as a necessary evil. And Steve Rogers raged against it however he could.

There had been nights of shouting, grief-fuelled destruction of furniture and lighting and punchbags, nights of sobbing and crying himself to sleep, nights of silent drinking with the reminder that he   
could never get drunk and escape his own thoughts, and every time it happened, he optimistically believed it was the last time. Sometimes, Steve thought the worst nights were the ones where he slept   
through the night like a new-born child; as though he was somehow letting down the people he had left behind by not remembering them as he was supposed to do. He emerged from those nights   
without a trace of exhaustion, but guilt weighed him down for days on end and ensured that those kind of nights didn’t happen often.

His other least favourite nights were ones like tonight. They were the ones where Steve had slept for seventy years and his body knew it, and even though there was nothing he’d rather do, Steve Rogers   
was awake and yet could not move to draw, to have some tea, to change position. He became stuck in place like the wax figurines that had been made of him, and it was in some ways scariest to lose his   
intricate control of his self.

Those nights came rarely, and unexpectedly. They snuck up, and left him staring at a cracked ceiling in silence for hours, or maybe watching the skyline of a city that he no longer belonged to, or   
watching endless reruns of programmes now old that he had so recently been in awe of.

The world moved on and Steve Rogers couldn’t.

Bucky moved on. And now Steve Rogers wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t.

He sighed again, noting with detached interest a star that pricked through the layers of cloud above him, its weak, flickering light trying desperately to reach earth from millions of lightyears away and   
years ago. Once upon a time, he might have felt the urge to reach for a pencil and sketch out its hopeful struggle. He might have deigned to use his precious few colouring pencils to capture the colours   
of the dark night sky, with every single one of his thoughts trained on how Bucky, far away at war or even mere houses away, could see that same star.

Now, the star brought him despair, because Bucky could never see it again.

Steve heard, rather than felt, the way that his breath choked up at that thought, and he wondered (for the slightest fraction of a second) whether suffocation was a good way to die. He thought that it was   
more painful than a simple gunshot, and yet less painful than living could-

He shut off his mind instantly, listening to the empty night air rather than return to the old thoughts of the simple, powerful glock that was stored as a ‘precaution’ in the bottom of any bag he carried   
around. It was an instinct that the soldier had drilled into himself, a safety catch before the safety catch; if he didn’t think about it then there was no way to reach the endless spiral that resulted from a   
gun held securely in the mouth.

Yes, it was a reflex, and one he had trained into himself because he knew people needed him. They needed Captain America, and Steve Rogers could put aside his own thoughts and feelings to allow the   
Captain to Save the World a few more times (one of these days Saving the World would kill him, and he would be at peace, but he was not allowed to seek that).

But…now, he had already failed. 

So many people were dead today. So many people, animals, aliens had died because he wasn’t strong enough to hold on to Thanos and his drenched gauntlet of blood.

Captain America existed for the people. Steve Rogers existed for his team. Both of them had been decimated.

Sam, his loyal friend, who had been the one to see him when his team had ignored him. Sam had been the one to drag Steve Rogers out of his own shadow, to see the man behind the legend, to save him   
and to talk to him.

Gone.

T’Challa, one of the bravest men he knew, and one who had been a leader of men and a beloved king to many. T’Challa, who had trusted him and fought by him, who laughed and joked and lived with all   
his heart.

Wanda, the girl who had become one of his friends and team so quickly he forgot that she hadn’t always belonged there, the woman who wielded power she didn’t want and who cried for strangers.   
Vision, who he had never been on the best terms with but they had reached a mutual understanding and he had become an integral part of them, if only because he loved Wanda and she loved him.

He envied them in a way. They had died with the one they loved, and so they didn’t have to suffer a life without the other.

Steve would mourn greatly for them all, and he knew that later, the grief of their deaths might break him down and trap him in a dark pit, but at the same time he thought that maybe he could survive   
that.

There was only one death he had never been able to truly face, and yet here the man was again, alone.

Steve bowed his head silently, the loss of his best and oldest friend crumpling him into a ball like a failed drawing, and squeezed his blue eyes shut tight. It truly was a desperate attempt to escape the   
thoughts he knew he could not really outrun, but he was Captain America and that meant that he could not give in.

“Friend Steve?” a deep voice asked from behind him, and Steve’s heart sank.

“Thor,” he acknowledged quietly, making an effort to draw himself up and back to his usual composure, but he knew that he had failed miserably. He smiled weakly anyway, hoping the sharp eyes of the   
God would somehow miss his pale skin and dark eyes, or the way that his arms were coiled tightly around his stomach, and yet knowing that was futile too, since Thor was already studying him with eyes   
full of sorrow and concern that had most certainly discovered his secrets already.

Steve thought he could only be glad that he had left the gun downstairs.

“Do you mourn for the brothers we lost, out here under the watchful gaze of the stars?” Thor asked, turning his head away as he sat down next to Steve, his strong legs dangling off the edge of the roof   
where the soldier sat silently.

“…so many dead,” Steve whispered back, loathe to admit the full extent of his grief, even to one of his closest remaining friends.

“Yes, good captain, we have lost many today. Thanoss has extracted from us all a great toll, which none are willing to pay,” Thor said wisely, staring off into the distance and thankfully not looking at   
Steve.

He didn’t respond to the other, since it didn’t seem like he would be able to talk at the moment.

“You know…friend Steve,” the God began, and his voice was unusually soft. The soldier found himself listening.

“We have both lost a brother today. You have lost your winter soldier, and I my brother Loki. It seems that he is dead this time and not returning…” Thor broke off, struggling to continue.

“Please, captain, seek comfort in your time of need,” he continued quietly. “I know the pain of losing a brother to places that cannot be reached,”

Steve heard Thor’s words, but carefully stopped himself from reacting to them. He didn’t need help, because he was a soldier and would always survive, whether he wanted to or not. 

“Thor…” he responded eventually, his voice a little cracked, but not as bad as he feared. “Thank you, but…I don’t think you understand,” Steve sighed, his eyes staring into the distance.

“What do I not understand?” Thor replied, upset. “Do you believe not that I loved my brother? That I trusted him?”

“…Bucky and I were different,” Steve whispered woodenly. “Thor…I loved him,” he admitted, finally hearing the truth break the quiet of the night sky, and he sensed Thor’s bright eyes as they stared into   
the side of his head.

He wondered what the god was thinking. Steve didn’t think Thor would have any problem with them, but it was likely quite surprising news, given that the man hadn’t really come out to many people. 

“You loved the man of winter,” Thor asked tentatively, seemingly coming to grips with the new knowledge, and then Steve felt the surprise turn to sorrow. “I offer my sorrow at your loss, friend Steve,” he   
almost whispered.

The acknowledgement from someone else felt freeing, but more than that, all Steve could think of was the way that Bucky would have hugged him, then kissed him breathless with joy at how they had   
finally come out. They had never been officially boyfriends, but Steve knew that he had been in love with Bucky, and Bucky with him. They had said it more than once, mostly on the nights where they   
couldn’t sleep, nights like this, where they had sat together and stared up at the stars, and Steve had stroked Bucky’s metal arm and long hair until they were relaxed and fell asleep in a puddle on their   
balcony floor. It was technically Steve’s balcony, but by the time Bucky had left last, they had practically moved in together.

Bucky had always loved the stars. Steve had too, because in all the things that had changed, the stars never did. They remained a constant for Steve in a way that nothing and no one except Bucky had ever   
managed to do, and they both knew that so much lay beyond their sight and ultimately Steve knew that he was nothing. It really was all he’d ever wanted to be- he wanted peace, and love, and on those   
dark nights with Bucky, he had found them.

They hadn’t even gotten the chance reunite properly. Steve was so convinced that they would both live through the battle, he had become so arrogant in his own skills that they hadn’t made time to greet   
each other properly and now they never would.

Because Bucky had disintegrated into a pile of ashes. He had melted away before Steve’s horrified eyes, his name the last word on Bucky’s beautiful lips, full of sadness and regret, fear and hope and a   
resignation that Steve hated and could not change.

“Steve,” Thor whispered quietly, apparently still sitting next to him, which Steve had forgotten in his momentary lapse. He flushed, pushing the thoughts of Bucky away and willing his composure back into   
place, but Thor stopped him. The god was staring at him in sympathy, and Steve couldn’t bear to meet his earnest eyes, and instead looked at the ground, and so it was all too easy for Thor to unfold his   
bear-like arms and drag Steve towards him in a strong hug that squeezed all of the air out of him and cracked the thin glass walls that he had managed to build up to protect himself from the grief.

Steve, to his horror, found his eyes start to sting as he felt the pressure tight around his shoulders, holding him securely and almost forcing him to take a step back from his shield of Captain America.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, even as he began to shake, and felt Thor nod silently at his comment. Steve managed to push back the grief for a moment longer, but no more than that, and so it wasn’t long   
before warm tears made their way down his red cheeks, betraying his mind as they fell, and yet only crying harder as he recalled the times that he had laughed with Bucky, drawn pictures of him as he played with the other boys when Steve was too weak, the times that Bucky had fought with him again school bullies, street bullies, and then how they had fought side by side in the war and in missions   
since. Steve cried for the first loss of Bucky, then for the losses he would now have to face without him by his side. There was to be no more fighting over who had to cook breakfast in the morning, no   
more running across the rooftops until they found somewhere to eat, no more waking up cold because Bucky had taken all the covers again. There was never going to be midnight tea, or surprise flowers   
just because, or clothes in littered trails over the house, or trips to the cinema to see both new movies and the old reruns that they had missed, and Steve knew that he was even going to miss the bad   
things, like the nights when one or both of them woke up screaming, or didn’t know who the other one was, or when they didn’t sleep at all and just lay awake with their fears all night.

There was to be no more of that, because there was no more Bucky.

Steve couldn’t help but cry more at that thought, or at the memory of his dark eyes as they faded into nothingness with only Steve’s name lingering on the air, and the ash that had fallen to the ground in   
place of Bucky.

Gone.

“It is natural to mourn,” Thor comforted quietly, not given to offering false platitudes, but feeling as though he needed to say something none the less. There were faint tear tracks shining on his cheeks   
too, but the god did not hide his sorrow at the loss of his brother, and yet he was thousands of years older than Steve, and so he knew that the soldier needed his support, even if he didn’t want it.

“Nothing about this is natural,” Steve responded, not quite venomous, but with a definite edge to his voice that could be heard even as he finally began to subdue his sobs.

“No, it is not. This is all the work of Thanoss, and one day he shall pay for the death of my brother. I swore it on my mother’s name,” Thor responded, anger curling its way around the edges of his tone,   
and Steve pushed his arms away slowly and sat up.

“Are you better, friend Steve?” the god asked carefully, and Steve considered for a moment, and slowly shook his head.

“Thor…I don’t know if I ever will be,” he answered truthfully for the first time in a while. “But…I think Thanoss is a good place to start,” Steve laughed hollowly, pressing his hands to his eyes and forcing   
away the last dregs of moisture.

“I would be honoured if you joined my quest, for you are a brave and noble warrior,” Thor agreed with Steve.

The soldier smiled sadly, looking down at his lap, and Thor took it as his cue to leave. He placed one large hand on Steve’s shoulder before he went, but if he smiled then Steve was too lost in his own   
thoughts to see it. It was a good ten minutes later that he even managed to pull himself together enough to get onto his feet, and even then, he took a step back from the edge.

He couldn’t die now. He knew that. There were people to take revenge on, and more specifically, he had a tall, strong, all-powerful alien to find and destroy.

“Hey Buck…” Steve whispered quietly, talking to his feet but really talking to a friend who wouldn’t be able to hear him no matter which way he looked. “I’m so sorry…I keep failing you. That’s the second   
time you’ve paid with your life,” he barked out a laugh, barely managing to force it past the lump that still refused to leave his throat.

“I- I won’t do it a third time. I promise, Bucky, Thanoss is going to pay for killing you…and for Sam, and Vision, and Wanda, and T’Challa…I really hope Tony is okay,” Steve hoped quietly, knowing that the   
man could be anywhere in the universe at the moment.

Or dead.

Steve sighed, knowing that anything he said was already pointless, and that he had seen Bucky die with his own eyes.

“I’m going to get you back. One way or another, so please, Bucky, please don’t be dead,”

“Thanoss will pay,” Steve promised the night sky solemnly, and the wind carried his voice a little, but it died easily in the small breeze. 

“I swear on my life, Thanoss is going to pay,”


End file.
